


no man's land

by izzygone



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Cigarettes, Drug Use, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzygone/pseuds/izzygone
Summary: Adam has a bad day so he meets up with Kavinsky to smoke under the bleachers.





	no man's land

**Author's Note:**

> Someone came onto my tumblr and asked if I'd ever considered writing adam/kavinsky, so here's that.
> 
> Not beta'd. If you're interested in getting involved with that, message me on tumblr at the-real-izzygone.

Adam doesn’t smoke, not really, but it’s only 1pm and it’s already been one of _those_  days. One of those days when he doesn’t feel like school or working or dealing with the pretentious little rich boys that rule Aglionby or with his parents or with his fucking _life_. So he’s out under the bleachers, relying on his low profile and the frigid Henrietta air to give him sanctuary as he smokes the second cigarette out of a pack he’d pilfered from his mother’s purse this morning thinking, _fuck it_ , and if he’s going to get beat anyway, he might as well get something for his trouble. Because there’s no doubt that’s what’s waiting for him at home, whether his father discovers the theft or not.

He doesn’t even like the taste of smoke or the feeling of his lungs burning from the inside out, but it’s calming; nicotine flooding his veins, all the familiarity of pressing an ice pack to a black eye or testing the sharpness of a knife against his skin. As disconcerting as it is comforting.

He takes deep drags, watching the ash build with each inhale, feeling the gentle tingle hinting at a burn over his tongue, the rougher, real-burn through his lungs, watching as each exhale hits the chill of the air and creates a great, icy wall around him. 

He senses rather than sees Joseph Kavinsky sidling up beside him, but doesn’t say anything about it. He’s long since come to terms with the fact that the underbelly of the bleachers is sanctuary for more than one kind of rebel.

They acknowledge each other with accepting nods and K finds his place, slouching against one of the support beams across from Adam.

Adam isn’t much of a sharer. He doesn’t have much worth sharing, and what little he does have, he’s worked too hard for to give frivolously away, but he extends the open pack toward Kavinsky anyway and isn’t surprised when K shakes his head, “Thanks, but I brought my own.” K’s grin is sharp as his hands slides into his pockets to retrieve a gaudy gold lighter - probably worth more than Adam could fathom making in a _month_  of hard, blue collar labor - and a joint. It’s not a regular joint, it never is. It’s tightly packed in black paper and when K lights it, there’s a dangerous sounding spark, like a miniature firework. It fades instantly but the smoke K exhales is purple and pungent, not at all like any of the weed Adam has ever smelled filtering out of the motorhomes at the trailer park. It’s a softer, sweeter smell, vanilla, cedar, maybe whiskey.

They smoke in silence for awhile, Adam’s cigarette turning slowly to ashes in his hands, K’s joint not appearing to get any smaller. Sometimes it’s like this. Quiet. Companionable. Just two rebellious boys smoking in secret on a crisp November day.

Adam knows he could leave it like this. He could finish his cigarette and leave or maybe watch Kavinsky smoke a little while longer. They’d part ways, he’d go to class and K to wherever he hung out when he wasn’t fucking around with Adam. 

But it’s one of _those_  days, so Adam takes a final drag off his cig and drops it onto the frosted grass and hears it sizzle. He knows Kavinsky isn’t surprised when he accepts the joint from him, but still he grins like it’s his goddamn birthday. “Shut up,” Adam huffs, embracing the unnaturally cool tingle of the purple smoke as he holds it in his lungs. 

“Didn’t say anything,” K replies, but that shit eating grin doesn’t go away. 

“Just get on your knees,” Adam takes another deep inhale and holds it in, pretends like this is still no big deal, and, he guesses, maybe at this point it really isn’t.

K falls to his knees with an easy manner, like he’s done this a thousand times, and maybe he has. Adam doesn’t really know or even wonder how many other people K does this with. He prefers to think of it as his own, private rebellion.

He exhales completely and watches as K undoes his fly and snakes a hand in to find Adam’s dick already half hard. It’s not unusual or even special, he’s a teenage boy and it doesn’t take much stimulus - the graceful and willing way K falls to his knees proving to be more than enough, “Aww, Parrish, you shouldn’t have,” K winks up at him.

Adam doesn’t dignify that with a response, just hisses as his cock hits the cool Virginia air. _Fuck_ , they’re going to have to find a new place to do this; he isn’t too keen on having his dick freeze off come December. He doesn’t have much time to think about it, though, because suddenly it’s hot and _fuck_ , that’s K’s mouth wrapping around him, taking in everything his hand isn’t already grasping. It’s once again blissfully familiar and Adam lets his eyes close, sucking more smoke into his lungs and holding it.

This isn’t normal. Nothing about this is normal. This joint, it’s not normal, American weed. Adam assumes it’s some Bulgarian shit K imports, but it seems too impossible for even that. It makes him feel high but grounded at the same time. He feels like he could do anything in the world but doesn’t have to. He feels like everything is just fine even though it supremely isn’t. He’s missing class, just chem but on a normal day, he’d _never_  let himself get away with something like that. K’s got his mouth on Adam’s dick and it feels _amazing_  which isn’t surprising except that Adam can feel everything,every slick movement of K’s tongue, fingers, even his eyes, wide and scanning, and even his _pulse_. He licks his lips and feels all of that, too. It’s all a little too good to be real.

He’s not sure why they do this. He thinks maybe K is just fucking with him, like this is all just a game to him, but Adam can’t really see any harm in it. He knows Kavinsky is dangerous, sees it in the predatory way his dogs stalk around Aglionby and at substance parties at the fairgrounds. Yeah, Adam’s been to a few of those, too, just as a quiet observer. He’s not sure how Kavinsky always manages to find him, even in the dark, even in a crowd. He’s not sure exactly why he _wants_  to be found, either, and that’s probably the most supremely not-normal thing about all of this.

He knows K is dangerous, but when he takes a puff of this miracle joint, it really doesn’t matter. He holds it in his mouth and uses both hands to grip K’s hair, rough and hard, earning a low, dirty moan that vibrates back through his cock for his efforts.

K enjoys this, though Adam doesn’t really know why. He thinks maybe this is K’s method of recruitment. Maybe this is how he won all of his dogs, but Adam won’t go so easy. Not that he minds the effort - not when he’s been getting off in K’s hands and mouth for half the school year already. It’s just - he doesn’t ever touch K back; that’s his line. It’s not because he’s afraid - at least, it’s not because he’s afraid of Kavinsky. He’s afraid of himself. He’s afraid if he gives something, he’ll give everything, and he really can’t afford that.

But K’s not asking for anything, so somehow it works out.

K’s thirsty for it today, Adam can tell. He’s even more enthusiastic than normal, which on another day Adam might not have thought possible. He’s enthusiastic both with his hand and his mouth, letting everything get really sloppy with spit and it feels so fantastic for a second Adam forgets to breathe and almost drops the joint. He catches it, though, at the last second, one hand bringing it back to his mouth while the other continues tangling into K’s hair. 

He lets his head fall back as he takes in another deep, glorious inhale, thinking about how everything feels loose and tingly and wondering what it might feel like if they did this somewhere more comfortable, somewhere K could do more than just suck him off.

It’s a jolt to his senses when K releases his grip on Adam’s dick, cool air blasting him and making him hiss and wince. It’s not _painful_ , nothing ever is after he’s taken a toke of K’s wonder drug, but it still stings until K swallows him the rest of the way down, letting Adam bury his dick in that wet heat. It’s just about all he can take and he tosses the joint on the ground so he can use both hands again. He grabs K by the hair, hard, just how he likes it, and rocks forward, choking him on it. This is never an issue - K has never complained, seems to like it, in fact, when Adam loses control and starts just  _using_ him. Adam’s too out of his mind to hold back, anyway, and he knows the rest of the afternoon is going to be a complete _waste_ , so he fucks K’s mouth with wild abandon, chasing an orgasm held just out of reach by the drugs clouding his vision and judgement.

Sometimes, it takes a little something extra to get him off. He doesn’t ever say it, but somehow K always knows. He lets Adam fuck his throat to his heart’s content and reaches another finger into Adam’s khakis, exploratory, prodding, making Adam’s vision go a little white with pleasure as he rubs it over his perineum, back further until it rubs against his hole, spit slick from K’s messy blow job.

That’s about _it_. Adam comes just like he always does, buried as deep inside Kavinsky as he possibly can and holds him there, fingers digging into his skull until he’s completely spent. K doesn’t even fight him, just moves the hand that was rubbing over Adam’s hole under his own waistband and jerks himself off expediently. He’s already come in his dirty uniform pants before Adam releases him and licks his lips.

Adam tucks himself away then helps K to his feet, careful not to let his own daze cause him to topple over, too. They lean against the poles under the bleachers for a little while longer. Adam lights another cigarette and K pulls out another joint. They don’t talk, they rarely do. They just smoke for awhile longer, watching the smoke fill the air like clouds then dissipate. It’s awhile before Adam feels his mind clear enough that he’s confident he can make it back to class, but when he’s ready he turns to go. He feels, maybe, like he should say something, but hasn’t really got much left in him to say.

“My car next time,” K says and Adam turns back to him, one eyebrow quirked, “It’s too damn cold.” 

Adam almost laughs then nods. Yeah, he’d been thinking the same thing. 

**Author's Note:**

> I accept prompts! Find me on tumblr: the-real-izzygone


End file.
